“A fishing rod?” I said, holding the sleek, expensive-looking gear in my hands. He beamed, oblivious to my lack of enthusiasm.
“Yeah, top of the line!” he said proudly. “I thought it’d be great for us to spend some time together, you know? Maybe hit the lake next weekend.”
The irony hit me like a punch to the gut. After forgetting my birthday to go fishing, he thought this would somehow fix things. I felt a lump rise in my throat, but I swallowed it down and nodded. “Sure, Dad,” I said quietly.
That night, I sat in my room staring at the rod. I realized I had spent years chasing after scraps of his attention, hoping for a moment where he’d see me for who I was—a daughter who just wanted to matter to her dad. But this fishing rod wasn’t for me. It was for him, another excuse to do what he loved while dragging me along as an afterthought.
The next weekend, I showed up at the lake with him. I tried to enjoy it, but the whole experience felt hollow. He didn’t ask about my life, my dreams, or even how my birthday had been. It was all about the fish, the gear, and his stories.
When we were packing up, he turned to me and said, “This was great, huh? Just like old times.”
Old times? What old times? I couldn’t remember the last time we’d spent any real time together. The words burned in my throat, but I didn’t say them. I simply smiled and nodded.
That night, I made a decision. I wouldn’t keep waiting for him to change, to magically become the father I wanted him to be. It wasn’t worth the heartbreak anymore.
I focused on my mom, my friends, and my own passions. I poured myself into music, the guitar Mom had given me, and the people who truly showed up for me. Slowly, I stopped chasing his approval.
Years later, he called, asking why I didn’t visit more. I finally told him the truth. “Dad, I spent my whole life trying to matter to you. But it’s clear I was never a priority. I’ve stopped trying to be.”
There was silence on the other end. Maybe he’d finally realized what he’d lost. Or maybe he hadn’t. Either way, I had found my peace. And that was all I needed.
